


like every bad metaphor in the world

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: College AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think that maybe you’ve got it bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like every bad metaphor in the world

**Author's Note:**

> Done on request. <3

Your name is Dave Strider and you are in your first year of college (mathematics, because it’s just ironic that such a cool guy is good at them) and you’ve been sitting at the same coffee shop every morning, ordering the same thing, for two weeks now.

Some might call that just plain pathetic, but it’s not something you need to be ashamed of, in your opinion; the girl working the counter is cute and no guy could argue with that. You’re just waiting this long to make sure you don’t shock her too hard with your smooth moves when you ask for her number, you know? You might want to work up to that, though, maybe make a little small talk once she finally remembers your name and laughs as she goes to get your usual, before you even speak like in one of those chick flicks. Not that you want your life to turn into a chick flick. That would just be stupid.

Nah, all you want is a date.

The first thing you noticed was the way she laughed. It’s a snorty sort of giggle that somehow manages to be really fucking cute, for lack of a better word, and she has no problems with letting it out. Some girls try to stifle their laughter but she doesn’t—you like that. There’s also her hair, which you think suits her perfectly; long and wavy and dark black and effortless. It’s kind of nice to see a girl that doesn’t care if there’s a couple hairs out of place. Her eyes are bright green, and the nametag clipped messily to the front of her shirt displays her name: Jade.

You think that maybe you’ve got it bad.

…shit, maybe your life really is turning into a fucking romcom.

Still, you wait and it takes a while (just a day more but classes last a long time and it fees like longer), and when she finally chirps, “oh, your usual, right?” you almost don’t notice because your phone keeps buzzing distractingly in your pocket because John won’t stop fucking texting you about Nic Cage’s new movie. _Dammit._

“Uh, yeah,” is your eloquent response. You watch as she bustles around, calling out a hello to an entering customer while wrapping up a croissant and pouring you out a cup of coffee. This, you realize suddenly, is the perfect chance; there’s no one in line behind you and the other guy that just walked in seems to only want to use the free wifi, so you can stand here and talk to Jade for as long as you need to. You clear your throat subtly, but she beats you to the punch.

“So, you go to the college right near here, right? I’ve seen you around the campus a few times!  What’re you majoring in? Oh, but first I should probably ask what your name is, right?”

She remembers you from seeing you around campus? Well shit, that must mean something. “Dave. And yeah, math.” You suddenly feel embarrassed about your choice in education, but she says nothing about it. ”You?”

“My name’s Jade, like it says on my nametag. I’m taking courses in physics, with botany on the side! It’s really fun,” Jade announces, shooting you an appraising look like she expects you to argue. Man, she could be studying anything and you wouldn’t judge her as long as she said it like that, sad as that sounds. It rare that you meet someone truly excited about what they’re studying around these parts.

“Sounds great,” you supply. She nods approvingly, which makes your heart skip a beat. (Jesus, and she keeps right on reducing you to cheesy romance novel lines.)

“Here you go!” she changes the subject by sliding the tray holding your order across the counter, green eyes bright and shining and holy shit, you have to shut yourself up soon, you really do.

“Thanks,” you say and stall for a bit, staring down at the croissant. All right, here’s your chance—

Jade’s eyebrows furrow curiously. “Did you need something else, Dave?”

“Can I get your number?” you blurt out, and fuck there goes all your planning, and even you can’t claim that that was any kind of smooth. Shit.

“My phone number?” Jade looks confused for a moment, like she’s trying to figure out why you’d need that—but then she’s smiling and pulling out a something to write with, scribbling a series of digits onto the back of an old reciept. “Oh, Dave, if you wanted to be friends then you should have just said so, silly!”

You’re still mentally berating yourself when you accept the outstretched piece of paper, but she’s still grinning widely either way. Mangaging a sort of half smirk, you take your food and say thanks and see you around as coolguy-like as you can and sidle away, seating yourself at one of the many empty tables. You wait until she’s not looking to tug out your iPhone, inputting her number into your contacts. ‘Friends’, she’d said, but you hadn’t really expected any less and you’ve got time to work up to what you were really going for. It’s a start, at the least.

Now you’ve just to work out what kind of smooth line you can open up your first text with.


End file.
